


This voltage to ignite

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: 5 Things, F/M, First Time, Kissing, insults as endearments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2012-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the sex that makes her worry; it's all the stuff that goes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This voltage to ignite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DevilDoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilDoll/gifts).



> For DevilDoll, who was having a rough day. Thanks to Angelgazing for handholding and cheerleading. Cassie's 16 in the story.

[one.]

The first time they kiss, they're both drunk--Cassie chasing visions of the future and Nick trying to cope with the shitstorm their lives have become. 

After they polish off half a bottle of tequila, they fall into bed. Nick cradles her against him and she buries her face in the crook of his neck, the familiar brush of his beard and scent of his skin exciting in a distant, comfortable way. 

Her head is spinning, full of images she can't quite grasp, and she's too _something_ \--drunk, sleepy, interested in staying where she is and being surprised where it goes--to get up and get her pens and her sketchpad. She wriggles against him in a way that gets her a low grunt in response, but it doesn't sound like he's in pain.

When his lips brush over her temple, it's like her whole body wakes up, that distant sense of excitement suddenly up close and personal and pulsing in her veins. She raises her head, ghosts her lips against his once, twice, light touches he can ignore if he wants to. The third time, he takes control of the kiss, his lips shaping themselves to hers as she melts against him, her whole body electrified. She's surprised it's not crackling from her fingertips. 

Cassie's kissed people before--there was a stitch in Prague, a porter in Duluth--okay, she's kissed two people before Nick, and she'd liked it, but this is something else, like everything in her body is turned up to eleven. Possibly because she actually has a thing for him that he will never, ever find out about if she can help it. He cups her face in his big, warm hands and teases her lips open with his tongue, sliding it along the roof of her mouth when she opens to him. He sighs into her mouth and she gasps, breathing him in: tequila, lime, and salt, and underneath that, wet heat that calls up answering heat in her belly, between her thighs. She slings a leg over his, but he doesn't roll them over, he just keeps kissing her, licking into her mouth like it's the only thing he's ever wanted to do.

They make out for a while, all soft sighs and thready moans, and fall asleep curled up together in the bed. 

In the morning, Nick pretends he doesn't remember (or maybe he really doesn't--she can't tell, but she thinks it was pretty memorable) and she lets him, too afraid he'll leave if she pushes the issue. She won't go back to being alone. Not until she absolutely has to. The kissing is nice (better than nice if she's honest with herself), but she doesn't _need_ it. Not the way she needs _him_.

*

[two.]

The second time they make out, several weeks and four countries later, it's like a mirror image of the first time. Cassie falls asleep tucked under Nick's chin--they never sleep in separate beds anymore; even that distance is too much when everything else is falling apart--and wakes up to his lips pressing against the corner of her mouth. She freezes for a second, then turns her face into the kiss, close-mouthed and so very aware of the stale taste of her breath, the heat of his body against hers, and the press of his erection against her belly through his boxers and her underwear. Of the fact that he might still be asleep and doing this unintentionally.

Then his hand lands on her ass, pulling her even closer, and his ridiculously long eyelashes flutter just enough for her to see that he's watching her the way she's watching him. 

She parts her lips and his sigh feels like a soft thank you. He doesn't seem to care about her morning breath. He curls his tongue around hers, slow and lazy, as he palms her ass. She rubs up against him, friction sending shocks of pleasure from her hard nipples to her cunt. She makes a low pleading noise and feels his chest rumble with laughter in response, but he doesn't do anything but kiss her, his mouth warm and wet against her jaw and her throat, his beard tickling her skin and making her shiver. His fingers tighten on her ass, and it's her turn to laugh, the sound muffled as she nuzzles into the crook of his neck. He wraps his other arm around her and the kisses start coming slower, longer intervals between them, and then he's asleep again, his breathing deep and even, stirring her hair.

The shades in their motel room are drawn, but she can see it's still dark out, late enough to be early, so she drifts back to sleep as well. 

The next time she wakes up, Nick is slamming the door to the room open, a tray of coffees in one hand and a brown bag with a bottom that's shiny with grease in the other.

"Get up, sleepyhead. We should get to the airport early, see what flights are available. Hook's meeting us in Istanbul tonight."

She would write the whole thing off as a dream, except his eyes linger a little too long on her mouth when she sips her coffee, and her lips tingle with the memory.

"Yeah," she says, licking at stray drop of coffee and cataloguing the way his gaze follows her tongue. "Okay. I just need to shower."

"Okay," he says, biting into his egg sandwich. "But if you take too long, I'm eating your jelly doughnut."

"You better not," she says, shaking her hairbrush at him, but they both know it's an empty threat. They fall back into their usual routine like nothing ever happened, and after a hot shower and another cup of coffee (and her jelly doughnut), Cassie is willing to believe that maybe it didn't. Maybe it was all a dream. 

*

[three.]

They're in New Orleans when they get the news that the Division section in Sydney has been brought down, and Nick takes her dancing in celebration. Well, technically, she takes him dancing, since she's the one who keeps track of the money; he's gotten better at winning at dice, but if she left him in charge, he'd gamble it all away, and Cassie likes eating regularly too much to let that happen.

Her new dress is as short as her skirts usually are, but it also has a plunging neckline, which means she can't wear a bra. She doesn't really need one, but she's showing a little more of her chest than she usually--ever--does, and when she looks down to see nothing but bare skin nearly to her navel, she almost chickens out, but it's totally worth it to see Nick's eyes practically bug out of his head.

"That's what you're wearing?"

She glares at him, because this conversation got old a week into their partnership, though he's mostly stopped being a jerk about it, and it's easier to be annoyed at him than nervous about whether she looks good or just like a kid playing dress up.

"You can either tell me I look nice, or you can shut the fuck up." If her voice shakes, it's because she's angry, not anxious or hurt.

"You look," he gives her a lingering once-over that makes heat rise under her skin, "way better than nice."

Somehow, that doesn't make her trembling stop.

The bouncer stamps her hand with barely a glance at her fake ID, and they head to the bar. This is usually where they split up--she'll hit the dance floor and Nick will nurse a drink until he finds someone to go home with, though they haven't gone out since before the first time they made out, so she doesn't know if anything's changed. The bar is crowded enough that she has to stand in the vee of his legs while she drinks her Cosmo, one hand on his thigh to keep herself steady as people push in behind her to order their drinks.

When she's done, she leans in as close as she can, her mouth right up against Nick's ear so he can hear her over the loud, heavy beat of the music. "I'm gonna dance now." 

He nods and she sees more than hears his, "Okay," in response.

She loses herself in the music and dances away when guys creep on her. She's not sure how long she's been dancing--she's sweaty and thirsty and thinking maybe it's time to head back to the bar for another drink, when she feels a hand on her back. She turns to give him a polite smile over her shoulder as she moves away, but it's Nick, and he's looking at her like he's never seen her before. She lets him pull her in close for a dance; she's grown about six inches in the time they've known each other, but he's still taller, and usually he makes her feel safe, but now, pressed up against him and moving to the deep, rolling beat of the music, he feels like the most dangerous man she's ever met. His hands roam up and down her back, and occasionally he grabs her ass so they can grind against each other. Her whole body throbs in time with the music and she aches with it down to her bones.

"Come on," he says, his breath hot against her ear, "let's get out of here."

They grab a cab and once they're settled in the back seat, he pulls her into his lap and kisses her, his mouth hot and wet over hers. She tastes beer when she flutters her tongue against the roof of his mouth, swallowing his low moan. They kiss for a little while, heat building up between them, and then he draws his mouth away, runs his lips down over her throat and the exposed skin of her chest. He licks at the curve of her breast and shifts the material of her dress just enough to get his mouth on her nipple. She arches into it, her hands tightening on his shoulders as her body sparks with pleasure. 

She's still savoring that when he puts a hand on her thigh, the heat of it shocking, but not as shocking as when he pushes it up under her skirt, trails his fingers along the elastic of her underwear and then rubs her through her panties. It's her turn to moan and she pulls away from the kiss to catch her breath. She closes her eyes and drops her head to his shoulder, a little embarrassed at how wet she is.

"Cass? Cassie? You okay?"

She looks up and smiles at him, her lips tingling from his kisses. "Yeah," she says, pressing down into his hand. He takes it as the permission she intends and slips his fingers beneath the elastic. He finds her clit and rubs, and the jolt of pleasure it sends through her makes her moan again, embarrassingly loud. She kisses him to muffle the sounds she's making while he fingers her. She wonders vaguely about what she must look like in the rearview mirror as she writhes in Nick's lap, and it feels so good she can't even care right now.

She comes with a choked off cry he licks off her tongue, her whole body pulsing with it, and then she slumps against him, exhausted. He wipes the wetness off his fingers on her thigh and presses a kiss to her forehead. When they pull up in front of the hotel, he pays the driver, and then maneuvers them out of the car without ever letting her go. He carries her back to their room and drops her onto the bed, and she falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow. 

He's already gone in the morning when she gets up, which is a shame, because she could really go for some more fooling around. Since he's not there, she gets herself off, but it's not the same; she kind of wishes he'd come back while she was doing it, though maybe that would be even more embarrassing than his not being here at all. She doesn't know and there isn't anyone she can ask.

She's showered and packed by the time he shows up. "The line at Café du Monde was ridiculous," he says, and since he has coffee and beignets, she decides to forgive him and not mention his little disappearing act. Maybe this is just how he is, and she's gotten used to everything else, so she can get used to this, too.

*

[four.]

They lose each other once, in the airport in Dallas of all places, and it's only after she sees him alive and on the move that she can breathe again. She grabs onto his intention to find her and follows him through it every time she closes her eyes, so she knows he's all right, but he's frantic, desperate to get back to her, and by making it easy for her to track him, he leaves himself open to every watcher Division's got. He hopscotches across South America, careless about staying under the radar while he searches, and she's frantic to get back to him, and not just because she's afraid of what will happen if she doesn't. Some of the visions she's had of their reunion are _intense_ and she'd like to make them a reality.

She finds him in Cochabamba, a few hours before a pair of Division sniffs do. When she pushes into his hotel room, he gathers her in his arms and his mouth is hot and hard over hers, his fingers threading tightly through her hair.

"God, Cassie, don't ever do that again," he mutters against her ear. 

"I'm not the one who got on the wrong plane," she answers, but she's clinging to him just as hard. 

He can't seem to stop touching her, his hands finding every bare inch of skin and making it tingle, his mouth writing words of worry and relief against her cheek, her throat, her chest. He walks her back to the bed and lays her down on it, the sheets soft against her back and the springs squeaking as he joins her. 

It's just like she's seen it: the impatient gesture he makes to get rid of their clothes, the look in his eyes as he takes her in, something hot and unfamiliar in it, but she wants to find out what it is, the pale golden light haloing his skin as he moves above her. What her visions didn't give her was the feeling of that skin under her fingertips, and the smooth, supple flex of the muscles beneath it, the tickle of hair against her chest and legs, and the heat of his dick and the sticky-warm pre-come painting her belly as she rubs against him. The scent of sweat and sex that clings to their skin now as he floats a condom up out of his pocket and rolls it on.

"You sure about this?" he asks, poised on his elbows above her.

She meets his gaze and grins. "God, Nick, just fuck me already. I've been seeing it for weeks."

That makes him laugh as he pushes into her, and he swallows down her little surprised gasp with a kiss. It's strange. It's good. It's not exactly what she thought it would be like and somehow it's better and weirder at the same time. He's in this rush to assure himself that she's okay and he doesn't go slow, and she doesn't want him to, but it means she doesn't get the full effect. Just as she's starting to really get into it, the heat and need rising hot and thick in her veins, he comes, his hips jerking hard against hers, his face pressed into the crook of her neck. 

"Huh," she says when he's done, stroking a hand through his hair. He raises his head and looks at her, sheepish and a little dumb, and she leans up and kisses him. "So. That was--"

"Not finished yet," he says.

She aches when he pulls out, her body still clamoring with need, but after he gets rid of the condom, he replaces his dick with his fingers, and that's good. 

"That's really good," she gasps as his fingers twist and curl up inside her. His fingers thrust in and out while he moves down the bed, gets his mouth in on the action, humming with laughter against her cunt before sucking her clit into his mouth, and she bucks up into it, body arching like she's been struck by lightning, pleasure shocking through her. She reaches down, grabs as much of his hair as she can and tries to hold him in place. "Holy fuck. Do that again." He laughs again, the vibrations sending her over the edge, white light and white heat sparking through her.

He rests his head on her belly, his glistening lips curved in a smug smile, and she pets him absent-mindedly for a few minutes, her whole body warm and relaxed and her mind empty of everything but him for a little while. And then reality reasserts itself in the form of a vision of the two sniffs on their trail.

"I hate to break this up," she says when she snaps out of it, "but we need to get out of here."

The whole room stinks of them now, but they do the best they can without burning the hotel down, taking the sheets and the pillows with them, and heading to the bus depot to take the first bus wherever it goes.

Cassie dozes with her head on Nick's shoulder, and thinks at least this time, she won't wake up alone.

*

[five.]

So sex is a thing they do now. They try to outrun Division agents and rescue other specials who may or may not become part of the network of people trying to bring Division down (and save Cassie's mom), and when they're not running or fighting, they're having sex. It's good sex. At least, Nick seems satisfied. Cassie doesn't really know any better, but it makes her knees weak and her panties wet just thinking about it, so she's willing to bet it's actually good, and not just good because it's sex. It's the best rush she's ever had, better than changing a bad future or getting the best of a fight, and the thing is, she wants it _all the time_. Nick is happy to oblige, but it's still _weird_. And she still has no one to talk to, to ask if this is what a relationship is, or just what _their_ relationship is, and she's afraid that if she talks to Nick, he's just going to freak out and end it. 

It's not that she's not happy, but Cassie likes to know what's going on, likes to be able to chart out the possibilities and correct course when things go wrong, and Nick is nothing but a jumble of amorphous possibilities until he acts. It gives her a headache, sometimes, watching him, even though she knows him well enough now to be able to guess how he'll jump at least thirty percent of the time. It's the other seventy percent that's making her crazy. She's used to just _knowing_. If this is how everyone else lives, she gets why the world is so messed up.

Because it's not the sex that makes her worry; it's all the stuff that goes with it. It's that achy feeling in her chest when she looks at him now, it's the way each vision of his death hurts even more than it used to, and the closer they get to their goal, the more frequent those visions are. She's afraid of those visions and she's afraid of what that ache in her chest means, and she's so far out of her element she feels like she's trying to breathe under water.

They're in Corfu, lying low after snatching some intel from a Division lab in Shanghai, when she finally gets the nerve up to say something. Nick settles on the sofa next to her and pulls her into his lap, and she stops him from going in for the kiss. The surprised look on his face would make her laugh if she weren't so anxious.

"Look, I know you hate talking about feelings, but can we talk about this?"

"I'm not the one who hates talking about feelings," he says, the surprised expression melting into a concerned one. 

She does laugh then. "That is such a lie." He gives her an affectionately indulgent look that says they both know he's right. She fists her fingers in his t-shirt, then uncurls them and smoothes the material out. "Okay, fine. I hate talking about feelings because they make everything--" 

"Complicated." He says it before she can, his hands rubbing up and down her arms before settling on her elbows. 

"Yes. That. I mean, you know I have a thing for you."

"A thing," he murmurs, but she ignores him and keeps talking.

"I have for a long time. And I know you--care about me or whatever. But I need to know what this is now, because I don't--I haven't done this before and I can't--I can't _see_ , because you're so--you. But I can't lose you, too, Nick. I can't."

"You're an idiot." She huffs and shakes off his hold, but lets him gather in her into a hug. He presses a kiss to her hair. "Cassie, Cassie, you're not gonna lose me. Though we should probably worry if I'm the mature one in the relationship." 

"Yeah, that's what we should worry about," she says, voice muffled by his shoulder. 

"Hey."

"Don't worry. You're not."

He huffs a soft laugh. "Good to know. Listen," he puts a hand under her chin and raises her face so he can give her the sincere eyes, "you're right. I care about you, but it's more than that, too. You have to know I whatever you, too."

She smiles at that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I totally have a thing for you." He presses up with his hips, and she can feel the heat of him through the layers of their clothes, and she's not so anxious that it doesn't call up an answering heat between her legs. "Can't you tell?"

"Ugh, you're such a jerk." She laughs, though, while she swats his arm. "I thought we were having a moment here."

"Mm," he says, angling her mouth to his. "You're the watcher. Can't you see we're about to have a lot more than that?"

"Whatever," she answers, leaning into the kiss.

"Yeah," he says against her mouth. "Me, too."

end


End file.
